


In Absentia Lucis

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Hux is Not Nice, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-TRoS, Suicidal Thoughts, What Is The Opposite Of Redemption?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: A wounded Hux is captured by the Resistance as he tries to escape after the disastrous defeat of the First Order. Locked up in his cell and waiting for his trial, he'll find himself face to face with the recently redeemed Ben Solo. A stranger with the face of a man he used to know, who seems to be dead set on making him "see the light".“It was like watching a lame animal trying to get around on its three good legs. There was little Hux could do to conceal the disgust twisting his stomach every time his eyes fell on the living yet empty shell of what once was the fearsome leader of the Knights of Ren.No, not lame – he mentally corrected himself, as he watched Ben exchange pleasantries with the guards standing outside the building.Tamed.”
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Dopheld Mitaka, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 44
Kudos: 107





	1. Blood, Sweat and Despair

It was like watching a lame animal trying to get around on its three good legs. There was little Hux could do to conceal the disgust twisting his stomach every time his eyes fell on the living yet empty shell of what once was the fearsome leader of the Knights of Ren.

No, not lame – he mentally corrected himself, as he watched Ben exchange pleasantries with the guards standing outside the building. _Tamed._ He was like a wild beast that had been stripped of its fangs and claws, then made to listen to a cacophony of voices telling it how good and kind it could be if it only tried, over and over and over until it started to believe it. Until it domesticated itself.

Hux was suddenly grateful for the tight fit of the handcuffs around his wrists. It was a thousand times more desirable than whatever had reduced Ren to a mindless husk of his former self, only capable of smiling and twirling his lightsaber around.

His train of thought was interrupted by the barrel of a blaster being jammed between his shoulder blades. Hux stumbled, cursing under his breath when the sudden movement brought him to put all his weight on his injured leg. The medics had only tended to the wounds that posed a serious danger for his life, handing him over to the military the moment they judged he wouldn’t drop dead after a few steps. As a result, his left leg was still swollen and throbbing with pain, even days after the fall of the First Order and his subsequent capture.

"Move," the Resistance fighter tasked with escorting him to his cell grumbled.

Hux glared at him from over his shoulder. For a single, fleeting moment he let himself picture the punishment he would have inflicted on him had he been one of his subordinates back on the Finalizer. The corners of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile as he pictured the man writhing in pain. It wasn't long before unpleasant rasp of his voice plunged him back into reality.

"I said move!" He repeated, as he saw him hesitating.

From the tone of his voice alone, Hux could see with sufficient clarity what was was going on inside his head. Common soldier assigned to prisoner duty. Fought the war against the First Order but never on the front lines. Lost some friends to the cannons of the Star Destroyers, perhaps a family. Itching to take justice into his own hands and avenge his loved ones. Would rather pull the trigger and watch his blood splatter on the wall of the cell block than wait for a trial.

He wasn't that different from the many young cadets Hux had to whip into shape during his military career; impulsive, always so full of anger, yearning to throw themselves into the fray. Except that he trusted his officers to follow his orders to the letter, while he wouldn't have been surprised to find that the Resistance struggled to maintain a solid grip on their troops.

Hux swallowed down the vitriolic remark that lingered on his tongue. Better not give him any more reasons to act on his private revenge fantasy.

What his captors referred to as "the prison" was, in reality, nothing more than a dilapidated barrack which had been re-purposed as a temporary home for the few First Order officers who had been lucky enough to escape the destruction of their fleet but not quick enough to disappear into outer space. Ben's beaten dog eyes followed him as he stepped between the two guards at the entrance and lingered until Hux was out of view.

The relief of not having to look at the living phantom of Kylo Ren anymore was soon washed away by the air of despair that hung over the prison. The smell of sweat and drying blood hit his nostrils like a punch in the gut, to the point that he failed to hold back a violent fit of coughing. No doubt amused by his reaction, the man let out a low chuckle and encouraged him to take the last steps that separated him from the holding cells with another rough shove. Before Hux could be as foolish as to try and retaliate, the handcuffs were removed and he was gracelessly thrown inside a tiny room, all grey walls, with a stiff-looking mattress that had seen better days and no windows. The door closed behind him with a high-pitched creak.

Hux waited.

He waited until the rhythmic sound of the Resistance soldier's steps faded in the distance. Only then did he allow himself to collapse against the hard wall, eyes falling shut. A deep sigh escaped his lips. The air inside the small cell was hot and heavy, almost suffocating. Hux found himself hastening to unbutton the collar of his shirt.

They had been kind enough to allow him to keep his uniform – minus his grades, naturally, to remind him that his glory days were over. Everything else had been confiscated, from his cane, to his blaster, to the vibroblade he always carried concealed in the sleeve of his coat. Not that he would have much use for them now, though the idea of putting a premature end to his own life and avoiding the humiliation of a public execution was getting more and more tempting by the second.

A strangled sob came from one of the adjacent cells. Hux entertained himself for a while trying to tell which one of his former colleagues might be nearing the brink of death on the other side of the wall. The game was over as soon as he realised that he struggled to put a name to most of the faces that had danced around him for the past ten years, let alone a voice. A myriad of identical uniforms, ranks and numbers merged together in a whirlwind of confusing details that threatened to add a splitting headache to the toll of his sufferings.

Never mind.

Hux blinked his eyes open, shifting on his feet. The movement was punished with a sharp twinge of pain shooting through his muscles. Finding a comfortable position turned out to be quite the challenging task when the choice was between the floor and an old, stained mattress that had probably seen a whole lot of unspeakable things. He settled for sitting on the ground, his aching leg stretched out in front of him.

"And so it beings," he murmured to himself.

Like most of his fellow officers, Hux was prepared to endure tremendous amounts of pain on the battlefield. When the trainers in the Academy talked to their students about the horrors of war, capture was never an option. Each soldier was expected to give life and limb for the cause, no questions asked. What happened if they were left standing after the defeat was none of their business.

Nothing had prepared him for this; the isolation, the lack of certainty, the endless wait that would have driven the sanest of men out of his mind. Not to speak of the sheer humiliation of being dragged out his wrecked ship, cuffed and laughed at by the very same people he had vowed to crush beneath his heel. He felt his pride burn inside his chest like a still-open wound. Much more painful that the two blaster shots he had received.

They were probably going to let him stew for a while, Hux reasoned. Nothing like complete lack of control over his fate to break his willpower. In the meantime, the higher-ranking generals of the Resistance would take some time to decide what to do with him – or rather how to do it. If he was lucky, they would all agree on the necessity a proper trial and he’d be granted the precious chance to see the outside world one last time. Then again, maybe they would just blindfold him, parade him around for a while, and the last thing he'd be allowed to see would be the jury sentencing him to death.

The logical assessment of his foreseeable future didn't soothe his nerves as much as he had hoped. With a malfunctioning lightbulb and the constant whaling of the prisoner in the next cell over, Hux braced himself for the inevitable.

The light above his head flickered once, twice, then went out completely.

****

Hux woke up with a start.

A good soldier always sleeps with one eye open. It was one of the first things he had been taught at the Academy. The trainers would make sure all the new recruits learned it the hard way. They would wake them up in the middle of the night and have them run around the facility until their lungs gave out. The first unlucky souls to give up would be rewarded with corporal punishment and a long description of what the Resistance would do to a pathetic excuse for a First Order soldier like them, with no shortage of gruesome details.

As he came back to his senses, he realized that he wasn't alone. His body shifted from unconscious to alert in the span of a couple of seconds, but it was already too late. The door of his cell was thrown open. Standing on the the threshold, a familiar figure shrouded in darkness.

His right hand reached for a weapon that wasn't there. He staggered to his feet, heart hammering against his ribcage. He had fallen asleep like a fool, a mistake that was going to cost him. His fist clenched by his sides. If he was lucky, this new version of Kylo Ren would be too busy trying to mediate to fight back, leaving him enough time to make a run for it. Then he could try and steal one of the smaller ships he had spotted outside and --

"How are you feeling?"

At first, Hux thought his ears were playing cruel tricks on him. That, or he was still sleeping, and his long-suppressed guilt had decided to appear before him in the shape of a ghost from his recent past.

Yes, that must be it. He was going to wake up soon, any moment now, and in opening his eyes he would find himself face to face with the same gruff soldier who had dragged him in, ready lead him to the gallows to be hung in front of a crowd of cheering rebels. He briefly wondered if they would be as graceful as to allow him to choose the method of execution. In his morbid imagination he had always thought a firing squad to be the most dignified way to go.

He looked at Ben with as much resentment as he could muster. "Like I've been shot twice and then left to rot in a stars-forsaken hellhole."

"Here," Ben said, stretching both of his arms out to him. "You must be hungry."

He was offering him what Hux recognised as a worn-out metal tray with some bread, water and a brownish soup served in a wooden bowl. Hux shoved it away with the back of his hand. He wasn't hungry. And, even if he had been, the memory of Brendol's lifeless body on the cold slab of the medbay, with his eyes rolled out and foam coming out his mouth, would have been a perfect reminder of how horrible death by poisoning could be.

Ben didn't seem offended by his gesture. He put the tray down and gently pushed it aside with the toe of his boot. What little Hux could see of his expression, cast in shadows as it was, spoke more of concern than rage. Hux hated him for it, more than he had ever hated him for his stupid tantrums and his mystic ramblings.

"I want you to know that I'll be voting for your exile."

Hux frowned. "Pardon?"

"When the time comes," Ben patiently explained. "And the war council reunites to decide your fate. I'll be voting in favour of your exile. I'm sure I can persuade some of the others too."

There was something unsettling about the way he talked. Like trying to comfort a wounded animal. Hux's stomach churned. If he hadn't been hungry before, now he was positive he would have thrown up every single spoonful of soup he might have attempted to shove down his throat.

"Save your breath, Ren, I--"

"Ben."

"Ben," he conceded, uttering the name as if it was something filthy, full of loathing and contempt. If Ben noticed it, he didn't bother to react. The melancholic expression on his face didn't change. "Let's pretend those kriffing bastards haven't sent you here specifically to torment me and you came only because your pure little heart told you this was the right thing to do. You're wasting your time. Your friends made it pretty clear that they cannot afford to have the fallen General of the First Order get away scot-free. It's not revenge, it's politics. The question is not if, but _when_."

"Believe me when I say seeing you executed is the last thing I want."

Hux offered him a sardonic sneer. "Forgive me if I find it hard to believe, then. I always thought I would need to dispose of you, eventually, before you had a chance to do the same to me. You know how they say – kill or be killed. I wouldn't be surprised to find out you had been planning to take me out of the picture all along. A terrible accident to allow you to seize the throne for yourself. No, maybe not an accident. You're not smart enough for that."

When Ben moved to cross his arms to his chest, Hux flinched. Muscle memory reacting to fend off against the aggression that didn't come. Nothing in Ben's body language suggested he was about to avenge the offence with one of his usual bursts of violence. Hux cursed himself for having even entertained the idea that this stranger wearing Ren's face would act like he expected him to. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Something less subtle. A show of force, more likely," he went on. A part of him just wanted to keep pushing, to see what it would take to ignite a spark of hatred in Ben's dull eyes. "That would be more like you. Kill two birds with one stone and set my death as an example for anyone who dared question your authority. Still, I'm not sure my troops would ever be able to see you as anything but Snoke's spoiled pet."

"I know," Ben sighed, looking away as if searching for inspiration. "Kylo Ren did a lot of things I'm not proud of. It's a long way to go before I'll be able to forgive myself, but that's now who I am anymore. I'm changed."

"Yes, I can see that."

It wasn't the answer Ben was expecting. It was obvious from the way he opened his mouth, only to close it again without making a sound. Silence fell.

Something was off in the way the stared at each other, Hux could tell. He was used to the tension, so heavy he could almost feel it, like electricity sneaking its way up his spine, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand upright. He was used to looking into Ren's black eyes, doing his very best to appear confident and defiant because he knew the first one who lowered his gaze would be forced to back off. It was all about power, and respect, and the thrill Hux felt the rare times Ren was the one to surrender.

He felt no such thing now. It was all wrong, undeniably and irritatingly wrong. Where Ren was never afraid of invading his personal space, a tactic like any other he used to try and intimidate him, Ben stood still by the door like a giant, unmoving block of ice. His eyes, however, kept wandering. They settled on him for a moment, then went back to staring at the space between them.

Hux was unsure whether a handful of minutes or an entire eternity had passed before Ben's voice broke the silence.

"What I'm trying to say is that we all make mistakes. But we can--"

"Leave," Hux groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had done many, many times times before when Ren managed get on his nerves by destroying this or that brand new piece of machinery. He was he starting to realise how lucky he had been, only having to worry about replacing the officers that had the misfortune of finding themselves in the way of his tantrums. "Leave now. Please."

Ben nodded. In equal parts relieved and surprised, Hux watched him leave the room without a word, the door closing behind seemingly of its own accord.

It was hours before his exhaustion won the battle against the lingering sense of unease Ben had brought with him on his visit, and Hux was finally able to drift back to sleep.


	2. Caged Animals

Hux's silent prayers to be left alone until either madness or death arrived to put him out of his misery were left unanswered. Ben reappeared at the door of his cell as early as the following day – or what Hux supposed to be the following day, given the lack of clues he might have used to tell how much time had passed since he had been locked up.

"We started off on the wrong foot, I'm sorry," he began. "I was hoping we could try again. I hate to know you're spending so much time alone, with no-one to talk to."

Hux wasn't sure he could find the right words to express how much worse his apology was compared to anything else he could have said, because the Ren he knew would have rather swallowed a burning-hot iron rather than utter such shameful words as 'I'm sorry'. Especially to Hux. Especially when he was well aware his apology would have been interpreted as an embarrassing display of weakness.

"And what makes you think I'd rather sit here and talk to you, of all people?"

Ben sighed. "I understand, I really do. I haven't been kind to you, in the past. You must have hated me."

"Don't worry, I still do," Hux rebutted.

"I'm sorry."

Hux had to bite back a curse. "Stop apologizing. You're trying my patience."

It was an empty threat. How could he pose any danger to him, wounded, half-starved barely able to stand on his own legs?

As things stood, he could only glare and refuse to get anywhere near the new tray of food Ben had brought to substitute the one Hux had left untouched on the floor. Ben ended up looking even more like a dog who had been scolded by its master, then, which brought Hux to wish he would have thrown his meal against the wall in a fit of rage instead. That, at least, would have been something Hux was accustomed to. A sign that Ren still there, hiding somewhere behind the façade.

But no. Kylo Ren was dead and Ben's strength didn't lie in his brute force, but rather in his ability to be compassionate and understanding. The air with which he went about persuading Hux to eat something, insistent and yet not pushing at the same time, was painful to watch. More painful, he noted, than the dull ache in his leg or his empty stomach twisting on itself.

How ironic. A lifetime before he would have given up his entire fleet in exchange for a reliable way of shutting Ren up and now he found himself wishing he would shout at him instead of falling silent and casting him furtive glances from the other side of the room, the cogs and gears in his brain turning at full speed to find the right thing to say.

A useless effort, simply because there was no right thing to say. No matter what, Hux could always hear the underlying current of _pity_ his words and stars knew he didn't need his pity. Not his nor anyone else's. The thought alone of Ben being capable of something as selfless as compassion was sufficient to deepen fracture between the man Hux knew like the palm of his hand and the doppelganger sitting opposite to him. For all he knew, Ben might as well have been a droid with uncanny human features programmed to always say the last thing he wanted to hear. A new torture technique engineered by the Resistance to have some fun with him before his inevitable execution.

After a week or so of infrequent visits – again, hard to tell since Hux had no means of distinguishing night from day – Ben changed his strategy. "They're going against everything they stood for during the war, treating you like a caged animal."

He started bearing gifts; more food, a change of clothes, a basin of water to wash his face and shave. The latter happened under Ben's watchful eyes, of course. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux could see him tense every time he brought the razor close to the exposed skin of his neck. He suppressed a chuckle picturing what would happen if he let the razor slide and not-so-accidentally slice his throat open.

Oh, Ben would surely rush forwards to try and stop the blood, apologizing all the while because if he had learned something about him it was that he always found a way to blame himself.

_Pathetic._

Still, the superiority Hux felt towards him wasn't as satisfying as he would have liked. Be careful what you wish for, indeed.

Ben talked to him for hours at a time, blabbering nonsense about everyone's right to be forgiven, and no matter how cold and unpleasant Hux's remarks were, he never reacted accordingly. Not once did he lose his temper. He kept looking at him with those big dark eyes of his and talked on, telling him that he was right, that his anger was justified, that it wasn't his fault if he had been raised the way he had and failed to see all the other opportunities within reach.

The encounters always left Hux nauseous. He'd find himself staring at the wall in the darkness, dreading the next time he would be forced to stare Ren's ghost in the eye. He hardly ever slept.

****

"I was just like you, once," Ben told him one day, as Hux chewed on a piece of stale bread. "Blinded by rage, consumed by my lust for power. I wanted to show the Galaxy what I was capable of, that I was to be feared, and I was ready to do anything to prove my worth. Anything."

"I beg to differ."

As far as Hux was concerned, they couldn't have been _more_ different. Back when the First Order was at its peak, he and Ren had been standing on a powder keg, striking a match and bringing it dangerously close to the explosives each time they bumped into one another. A catastrophe waiting to happen. Hux was order where Ren was chaos. They only happened to share the same goals though, in retrospect, Hux had a few doubts about that too.

Something about Ren had always escaped him, be it his supernatural connection to the universe around him or his blind motivation to seek out all that was left of the ancient Sith Order and destroy it. Even then, there had been something hauntingly beautiful in the way he carried out his carnage. More than once Hux had felt privileged for having the chance of witnessing it from afar, safe from the deadly swipe of his lightsaber but close enough to admire his murderous fury in all its terrifying glory.

Then again, the word beautiful didn't quite convey the thrill he felt each time he watched over him on the battlefield. Ren was the beast Hux fantasized about taming then unleashing against his foes who, at the end of the day, would come kneeling in front of his throne, bearing the severed heads of his enemies as gruesome yet greatly appreciated gifts.

Ben was...he didn't know what Ben was, really. He was calm and patience, someone who had all the rights to make him feel safe and protected and still somehow made him uneasy. It was hard staring at a rough caricature of what Ren would have been had he not decided to join the Order. A constant, cruel reminder that somewhere outside his prison the last remnants of everything he had built in years of hard work and sacrifice were crumbling under the blows of the Resistance.

"We are not our past crimes, Hux. We're much more than that, you and I. Deep down, I'm sure you know that too."

"Really?" Hux said, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Ben nodded. "I'm sure of that."

It was an act. It had to be.

I didn't look or sound like one, but who was he to judge? Ren had never been any good at hiding his emotions, helmet or no helmet, so it was only fair Ben would be the exact opposite in that regard too. For all he knew, he might as well have been an excellent actor. What did he know about him, anyway? Very little. Not enough to be able to predict his actions with any degree of certainty. Definitely not enough to be able to see right through him or to read his thoughts and hidden intentions in the not-so-subtle changes of his body language like he had done with Ren several times in the past.

And maybe it was his so desired madness finally creeping up on him, but a part of him started to suspect Ben was trying to obtain something. That, at the very least, would have been an acceptable explanation for his infuriating behaviour. The Resistance had probably thought it appropriate to try and break him with something he had never known – kindness.

Well, tough luck. For better or worse, Ben's presence only contributed to heighten the ever-present paranoia that had accompanied him throughout the better part of his career. "Why are you doing this?"

"I don't--"

"Oh please," Hux hissed. "You might have become kind and gentle, now, but you're not stupid. This, all of this! Visiting me almost every day, keeping me sane only to torment me with more and more your nonsensical blabbering."

"Because I feel responsible."

"Very well," Hux scoffed. "It's good to see you still have one of your worst qualities. The Galaxy doesn't revolve around you, Ben. For what, pray tell, do you feel responsible? Me ending up in a cage? The fall of the First Order?"

Ben shook his head slowly. "The man you've become. You were already on a dangerous path when we met, I won't deny that, but instead of lending you a hand I added fuel to the fire. I didn't understand the consequences of my actions until it was too late."

"Did it ever occur to you that I had a life before you bust into the Finalizer and started spreading chaos around my perfectly crafted plans? The path you're talking about – I _chose_ it. I wanted it, with every fibre of my being. Rest assured that you had no part in deciding who I am."

"That might be true," Ben conceded. "But the way I treated you surely didn't help. You were angry and frustrated, and my behaviour only exacerbated it. I was blind, I couldn't see how our antagonism affected you and I'm deeply sorry for that."

The corner of Hux's mouth twitched, but he didn’t get the chance to add further emphasis to his disagreement before Ben carried on. "What I'm trying to show you is that if I've changed you can change too. It's not too late. There's still some good in you, I can see it."

That - that was more than Hux could bear. He let out a bitter, humourless laugh that echoed through the four walls of the cell until the entire room appeared to be submerged by it. The idea itself was preposterous. The fairy-tale that there's some good in each one of us and that it’s oh so easy to turn your life around, if you really want it. He wasn't surprised to hear the familiar litany of Ben's delusions, but that he'd try to feed it to him, well, that was just insulting. It made Hux want to punch him in the face.

And then he realised there was nothing keeping him from doing precisely that.

He stood up, the last piece of uneaten bread falling to the ground. There was no way Ben didn't sense his intentions – he didn’t need anything as sophisticated as the Force to recognise the murderous look in Hux's eyes – and yet he did nothing. He stayed put, allowing Hux to get closer.

The sound of his knuckles crashing against Ben's nose was all kinds of satisfying. Hux saw him struggle to maintain his balance, stumbling back until he was pressed up against the closed door behind him. Blood started to trickle down his nose and lower lip.

It was a glorious sight. The most beautiful, satisfying thing he had witnessed since the inauguration of Starkiller Base. Hux found himself unwilling to back down just yet. Ben's reaction – or, well, lack thereof –urged him to keep pushing until he spotted the first crack. There was bound to be one, sooner or later.

Weeks before, when he the memories from his previous life were still vivid, he would have perhaps been able to restrain it, shove it aside in one of the darkest corners of his mind reminding himself that a man of his calibre wouldn't be caught dead stepping so low. He had an image, back then, a reputation to uphold. But those days were long gone. He had no such qualms now. He wanted to break him, to tear him apart piece by piece, if only to feel powerful and in charge one last time.

He grabbed a fistful of Ben's white shirt and slammed him back against the door, obtaining a quite gratifying noise from his head hitting he metal. The fingers of his free hand wrapped around Ben's throat. A moment of hesitation, then, just the time to take in a deep breath and then he pressed down, hard.

Ben let out a strangled gasp and Hux sneered with delight, imagining how it would feel to snap the tendons and bones beneath. "Still think there's some good left in me, Ben?"

The words he spat through gritted teeth seemed to have an effect on him. It didn't last long. A split second, the blink of an eye, before it disappeared but Hux could have sworn it was there. Ben had looked _furious_ , whatever spark of pride had survived the transformation, trying to claw its way out.

_Come on, stop me_ , Hux found himself wishing. _Push me, hit me, use your kriffing magic to knock me out! Show me you're still in there!_

Ben brought one of his hands up and closed his fingers around his wrist, the pressure entirely too gentle to pass for a convincing threat. Hux almost wanted him to break his arm, to react with what little will to fight was left in him.

"Do something!" He snarled.

"No," Ben said. His voice came out ragged, but they were close enough for Hux to understand him clearly. "If I fight back now, I'll only prove you right. There is another way, Hux."

Hux felt all his of his strength leave him. The solid grip he had on Ben's shirt became slack. He let his arms fall at his sides, limp. He watched Ben leave, desperately searching for a glimpse of anger in his eyes.

There was none.

_In his dreams, Hux tore Ben apart._

_Free from the gut-wrenching sensation that had seized him when he had realised Ben wasn't going to fight back, he was free to watch as flesh and yield under the sharp blade in his hand. Or was it just his fingers, ripping easily through layers of twitching muscle and pale skin? Hux couldn't tell. Even as he coughed, blood dripping from his lips, Ben didn't try to stop him._

_Like he did in his waking hours, though, he talked to him. Whispered, rather. But his voice was distant, difficult to hear. Not enough to persuade Hux to try and restrain his destructive urges. Ben must have realised it, at some point, because he held his hands up, not in an attempt at defending himself but rather in a desperate act of surrender._

_The beast inside Hux's chest howled._

_Only when the shell was stripped away, piece by piece, and Hux could finally reach his still-beating heart underneath, did he see a flash of fury on Ben's features. The fierce look of hate he remembered almost fondly from their shared past._

_Hux let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Uncaring for the gore staining his hands and clothes, he laughed._

_And laughed._


	3. Suffer No Fools

"I think it's time we talked about your anger."

Hux glared at Ben from over the rim of his glass. Unfortunately, no amount of resistance on his part could dissuade him from his noble purpose. Instead of being shaken and upset about what could have very well been a successful attempt on his life – there wasn't a day Hux didn't wish he had kept it together and squeezed just a little harder – Ben had been all the more eager to see him, after the incident.

Hux reminded himself to ease his grip lest the glass shattered in his hand. "Do you, now?"

"What happened the other day made me realise that all the pent-up anger you've been harbouring towards me could be what's keeping you from seeing the light. And again, I'm afraid my past behaviour contributed to it."

They were sitting together in Hux's small cell. Key word being _small_. There wasn't nearly enough distance between them for his taste. Earlier, Ben had even tried to pat his knee, a gesture of encouragement no doubt, but the way he had moved, so devoid of threat and full of compassion, had made Hux recoil until his back had found the wall behind him.

Though he hadn't acknowledged it out loud, Hux could tell Ben had been disappointed by his reaction. So disappointed, in fact, that he had immediately presented him a peace offering in the form of a bottle of Corellian wine. Hux had reached for it like a starving man reaching for a piece of rotting meat while his wounded pride whined and covered its eyes.

Less than an hour later, the bottle was already half-empty.

"Seems like you've planned everything out," a pause. Another sip of wine. "Have you also considered the possibility that I may not want to talk to you? Or see you, for that matter. Though you haven't left me much choice on that matter."

"It's fine," Ben said. "I can wait until you're ready. We can find something else to do in the meantime."

Another thing to add to the already miles-long list of things he despised about the new Ren: he always won, in the end. Either Hux played along and indulged him in his ridiculous requests or he resisted, and he was punished with a sickening display of kindness and patience and no shortage of irritating little smiles, making him wish he had complied with his requests right away.

Doing that meant Ben would leave sooner. Quick and painless.

Well, physically painless. The nausea was still there, disappearing during the long nights he lay awake on the hard mattress that served as his bed, and coming back with a vengeance the moment Ben stepped inside the room, each word, each movement dancing on the fine line between something he recognised and something he found unnervingly foreign.

"Can't you use your power to pull my subconscious apart, find the answers you need, and get over with it? I assure you I would rather suffer that than," he made a vague gesture with his free hand to encompass the entirety of the situation. Ben, himself, his laughable idea of playing psychiatrist with a man awaiting his death sentence. "Whatever this is. You were good at that. Very efficient."

"I was also cruel. And merciless. Unable to control my impulses. All things I now resent."

"Of course," Hux huffed. "How careless of me. I bet you only use your powers to help your new friends, now, don't you? Let's say they've captured a disgraced First Order officer who knows where his brothers in arms are hiding but is exceptionally resilient when it comes to torture. You can waltz in and--"

"It wounds me that you think I'd be capable of such a thing."

Hux sneered. "Good."

"There, you see?" Ben gestured to him. No, not him – the air around him, as if his resentment was something visible, hovering above his head, draping around his shoulders like his old greatcoat. "It's your anger. All that hate and resentment weighing you down like a rock. You need to let go."

"What I need, Ben, is another one of these," Hux replied nodding towards the bottle resting on the floor next to his knee. "I don't think this one will last very long."

"I'll see what I can do."

Silence.

Hux had been growing somewhat familiar with that kind of impasse. It occurred every time Ben made the mistake of saying something that didn't call for a direct answer and Hux was more than happy not to offer him one. His energy was better spent otherwise – pacing around his cell in the dead of night, whispering curses under his breath, letting his mind wander among dozens of different and improbable scenarios in which Ben's head ended up smashed against the grey wall of the prison and he managed to sneak into a departing ship that would take him somewhere, anywhere he wouldn't be forced to take part in this ridiculous charade.

In silence, Hux could pretend that Ben's face was just another mask, much like his helmet had been, to hide the contrasting emotions writhing under the surface. It provided him with fleeting moments of relief before Ben started pestering him with his ridiculous assumptions all over again, pressing until Hux was compelled to answer before he pulled one of his irritating adages out of his sleeve.

"You have nothing to fear. The man you remember is dead," Ben said, as a way to encourage him to speak up. Hux clicked his tongue, lips set into a hard, thin line for the effort of holding back a caustic remark.

_Yes, that's the problem._

"Is he? Dead, I mean. Because something tells me he's still in there. Somewhere," He got to his feet, doing his best to ignore the stab of pain shooting through his bad leg. He stretched it, biting down hard on his lip to keep himself from screaming. "You see, there would be no reason for you to keep claiming that he's gone, if you weren't trying to convince yourself as well. This is not just a pantomime for my amusement. It's a desperate plea for that nagging little voice to stop whispering in your ear about everything you could have had."

Now that might have been a bit of a stretch, Hux was aware. He couldn't know for sure. That one spark of barely suppressed anger he had glimpsed as he took his hands to his neck wasn't proof enough. Wishful thinking, more likely. Or perhaps he just wanted to see how far Ben would let him go, see if his words could find an opening where his fists had failed.

Still, Ben looked dumbstruck. It took him what felt like an eternity or two for him to imitate him, to get up and manifest some form of disagreement. Always in his quiet tone, mind you, to ensure he didn’t come off a little too forceful – stars forbid. "It doesn't work like that."

Hux dismissed him a wave of his hand. "I remember you confessing you felt a force trying to pull you towards the light, once. Not one of your proudest moments, I know, but I wouldn't be surprised if..." The end of his sentence was left hanging, as he took a tentative step towards Ben. "Do you still hear him, I wonder? Trying to pull you back?"

"We all hear voices from the past, Armitage. Some of them are trying to show us the right direction, some are only there to goad us into repeating the same mistakes, and it's our duty not to let them climb to the surface."

Hux's face twisted into a grimace at the mention of his given name. It was no secret he despised it and yet, even in the heat of their rivalry, Ren had always refrained from using it to get under his skin – an effort Hux couldn't help but appreciate. It seemed like Ben had no such qualms.

He scoured his expression in search of a hint of ill intent which, try as he might to, he still couldn't find. There was only Ben, in his white knight armour, solid like a statue and just as immobile in his resolve. A new wave of nausea overcame him when he realised that Ben might have very well played the given name card not to hurt him, but to try and establish some kind of connection, tragically missing the point. For a moment, he let himself re-live the thrill of wrapping his fingers around his throat and the surprise in his eyes. It would have been so easy, so so easy to to repeat his performance. Ben would let him. He had before. 

"You do," Hux insisted, inwardly shushing the beast that was already craving Ben's blood. "You only learned to hide it better, but you're still--"

"You're not in your right mind," Ben interrupted him. "The isolation, the wine...maybe it was a bad idea."

That, Hux didn't bother to contradict. Ben raised a hand, presumably to place it on his shoulder in a clumsy show of camaraderie, but he was quick to step back. He looked at Ben's hand, still lingering mid-air in the space between them, as if a single touch would have been enough to kill him on the spot.

"I think seeing a familiar face will do you some good." And there it was, the smile that Hux had grown to hate, with more intensity than he had hated the man he was before, if such thing was even possible. "I'll have a word with the guards."

Unsure of what he meant by that, Hux didn't dignify with an answer.

****

There was a long, jagged scar on the left side of former Lieutenant Mitaka's face. Another demonstration that the Resistance field doctors didn't care much for repairing the damage their fighters had done, besides making the prisoners presentable for trial. And if their appearance just happened to attract the audience's ridicule, all the better.

Hux caught him casting a concerned glance at his limp as he was led outside of his cell, but he was quick to trade it for a timid smile that still betrayed a hint of worry. He had never been a good actor.

"When they told me you were still alive I...I was there when Allegiant General Pryde shot you and I thought--" He looked away, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts and stop himself from stumbling around the words. "Forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's good to see you, sir."

He was wearing a clean shirt over his old uniform trousers, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Though he kept his arms crossed, Hux noticed how a couple of his fingers were bent at awkward, unnatural angles. Hux saw the dark circles around his eyes and wondered if he looked like that too. The picture of begrudging resilience in the face of despair.

"Likewise, Lieutenant," he said, surprising even himself when he realised it wasn't a lie.

Mitaka's features lit up.

The guards were watching over them like a pair of hawks, right hand resting on their blasters. A wrong move, a wrong word even, would have given them enough of a reason to shoot the both of them dead.

 _Would it be that bad?_ a treacherous voice quipped up from the back of Hux’s mind. He was quick to dismiss it.

"I suppose Ben spoke to you?"

Mitaka was confused for a moment. "You mean-- ah, Kylo Ren? He did tell me he goes by Ben now. He started visiting me some time ago, actually. I didn't mind the company, even if it was a bit unnerving at first. I almost wish he would have..."

"Did he tell you why?" Hux pressed.

The Lieutenant's penchant for getting lost in his own thoughts had once been irritating, to say the least. Now, it was almost comforting. A brief spell of normalcy Hux hadn’t known he needed.

"Yes, he...uh. To be frank, sir, I'm not sure I understood. He seemed to think you and I were close during the war, he even went as far as saying that I would be the only one you'd be willing to listen to. I told him it wasn't a good idea, but he kept insisting, going on and on about how a word from a friend could save you from your inner darkness. What could I do? I lied."

This time around, Hux didn't need to urge him to continue. Mitaka correctly interpreted the curt nod he offered him in response as his cue to elaborate.

"I told him I would help him to...redeem you, yes, that's the word he used. I said that I would try to talk some sense into you," seeing how Hux’s eyes narrowed, he hastened to add. "I have no intention of doing that, of course. He's the one who needs sense talked into him, if you ask me. I just saw the chance to stretch my legs and I took it."

Hux took an inward sigh of relief. "It's nice to hear there's still someone in their right mind."

Mitaka shifted on his feet. The way his brows furrowed and his eyes fixed on an empty spot somewhere right above his left shoulder told him that he had once again got side-tracked by his own internal musings. "It must be tough, seeing him like that."

"I'm not sure I follow."

The Lieutenant seemed to regret his little slip the moment he looked at him in the eyes. Whatever he was meaning to say got confused with a myriad of other thoughts in his head, leading him to try and fail to say something several times before he was able to find his voice.

"I apologise if I'm crossing a line, here, but there were some rumours about you and Lord Ren. It was quite obvious you two had some kind of relationship." Everything about him was careful, now. From the the way he looked up at him as if expecting a punishment to the stiff line of his back, not at all unlike the demeanour he sported when reporting unpleasant news to his superior officers.

Hux, for his part, was too busy processing the information to even think about disciplining him.

He doubted what he and Ren used to have could be called _a relationship_. Then again, it wasn't like he had much experience with those. He had heard other people talking about their affairs, but when compared to Ren and himself there was always something amiss – be it the constant getting on the other's nerves, the antagonism, the biting remarks or the tensed muscles as they prepared to jump at each other's throats like a couple of feral animals. The veiled insults in public and the never-too-soft touches in private, beyond the threshold of Hux's own quarters. Away from prying eyes, where their mutual hatred burned even brighter before it morphed into something infinitely more satisfying. It used to keep the hate at bay just long enough. Or, at the very least, until their paths crossed once again.

"I wouldn't say it's tough," Hux sighed. "Infuriating, that's what it is. If I have to be completely honest, I feel like one of these days I'll end up strangling him with my bare hands. Not that I haven't tried before."

"I wish I could have seen that. Serves him right. As for myself, I think I prefer this new version of him. Less likely to use me as a punching bag when he's having a bad day," Mitaka offered him a sly, almost childlike smirk. Hux couldn't help but chuckle.

It didn't last.

"My trial has been scheduled," Mitaka said, breaking the silence. "They're planning to transfer me by the end of next cycle."

Hux gave himself some time to take in the implication of his statement. For all his faults, Lieutenant Mitaka was proud, and stubborn, willing to fight tooth and nail for the ideals he believed in. The kind of officer Hux held a strong respect for. There weren't enough words in the Standard Galactic Language to persuade him to bow his head and plead for mercy.

"Any idea of what the sentence will be?"

"Not really, no. But I'm optimistic," And of course he was. Trust Lieutenant Mitaka to be the one spurring his troops on, claiming there’s still a chance to turn the tables even as his soldiers keep dropping like flies. "Seeing as this might be the last chance, sir, I-- I wanted you to know what a pleasure it has been for me working under you for all these years. I have no regrets. I'll hold my head up high and face whatever comes at me. If you're willing to accept one last piece of advice, sir, I hope you do the same. Suffer no fools."

"Time's up! Back to your cells!" One of the guards barked.

Hux ignored him. "You did the Order a great service, Lieutenant."

Mitaka nodded. "I like to think that too. Thank you, sir."

They shook hands for a little longer than strictly necessary. Longer than it would have been appropriate had they been back on one of the Order's Star Destroyers, the General congratulating with his subordinate on a job well done before they both had to rush back to their duties. Hux found that the circumstances warranted it.

"Don't make me repeat myself!"

Before either of them could add any more useless words to their farewell, they were pulled apart and forcefully brought back to their respective cells. The echo of the Lieutenant's voice kept Hux company in the restless hours between sleep and wakefulness.

_"Suffer no fools."_


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short chapter/interlude is pure self-indulgence, just me wanting to give Mitaka's story some semblance of closure even if we probably won't see him again.

Former Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka wasn't scared when he saw the carrier ship tasked with transferring him and a handful of his fellow officers land on the wide clearing in front of the prison.

Two Resistance fighters flanked him the moment he stepped outside the building, to avoid having to chase after him had he tried to make a break for it. At least, they had spared him the handcuffs which he was grateful for. It meant that they weren't particularly concerned about his fighting abilities. That, or that they had been pleased with his complacent behaviour during his imprisonment, to the point of granting him a brief taste freedom before the final goodbye.

It was funny, really. He had always thought he would be scared – no, terrified at the prospect of an execution. Locked up in his cell, with no company and no fresh air, he had had more than enough time to wallow in his fears. He had listed all the possible outcomes one by one, from the more to the less likely, and had concluded that the possibilities he was going to be sentenced to an untimely death were right about eighty percent.

He _should_ have been scared. He had all the rights to, and yet he was anything but. An optimist at heart, Mitaka believed in the power of unexpected opportunities, even after the Resistance's valiant attempts at making him regret having ever joined the First Order.

Speaking of being scared – out of the corner of his eye he spotted a tall, dark figure approaching him.

"Ben," he greeted with a nod, sure that any unexpected movement would have prompted the guards to re-think their choice about the handcuffs.

"Dopheld."

It was strange hearing his own name – his given name, not his rank nor his last name – uttered by the voice that always had him on edge whenever he felt it resonate down the hallways of the ships he had been assigned to. There was a time he had been terrified of Kylo Ren. A single incident involving a broken console and particular piece of bad news he should have delivered with a little more tact had been enough to instil in him the fear of the Force.

That very fear had spiked up when Ben had opened the door of his cell. Mitaka's heart had almost burst out of his ribcage, so fast it had started to beat. To his astonishment, Ben's visit had left him not physically and mentally broken, but with a lingering sense of pity. Not the good kind of pity either, no, it was more akin to the pity one might feel for a wounded animal lying half-dead on the side of the road. It hadn't taken him long to understand that, no matter how hard he pushed, Ben never pushed back.

In retrospect, he might have taken advantage of it. Just a little bit.

"Leave us," Ben told the guards. The two Resistance fighters exchanged a preoccupied glance. "Just a couple of minutes, if you please." Though visibly circumspect, they complied. Mitaka suspected it wasn't out of any respect they harboured for him, but rather because of the subtle, ever-present threat of the the power that lay in his hands.

"You talked to him," Ben began, as soon as they were out of earshot. "Did he change his mind? Did he listen?"

Mitaka gave a small shrug. "Not really."

Ben scowled. It was the most Lord Ren-like expression he had seen him make in a long while. But even then, it didn't seem like he any intention to attack him. He would have been very, very surprised if he did. "What do you mean?"

"He did listen, yes, but only to my suggestion not to give you too much credit. I saw him, Ben. I saw how miserable he looked, I didn't feel like tormenting him further. Besides, if you really are a changed man, you'll forgive me. Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter, at this point?"

"I thought you wanted the best for him," the tone of his voice, that should have been accusing, was just sad instead. Tremendously so.

"I do," Mitaka replied. "I just don't think listening to you and your stories about redemption would do him any good, as simple as that."

"I'm trying to help him."

"Seems like you've got something of a saviour complex going on."

"I could help you too," Ben insisted. In the shadows cast by the setting sun, the look on his face appeared even more sombre. "I can put in a good word. I know some people in the Resistance are still wary of me, but they will take my thoughts in consideration."

"I'm afraid it wouldn't make that much of a difference," he stopped himself from scratching at the healing scar cutting across cheekbone, a keepsake from the day they had dragged him in kicking and screaming. He had refused to go down without putting up a decent fight, which had cost him the mockery of the enemy soldiers, as well as a whole lot of blood. He had been subjected to a particularly cruel repeat performance no longer than a few days later, in which his hands had taken brunt of it after he made the mistake of declaring that, no matter what they decided to do with him, he would always be proud of having fought for a glorious cause. "The truth is, Ben, that I liked serving in the First Order. It made me feel like my life had a purpose, and a noble one at that. That's what I'm going to tell the jury. Maybe it won't do me any favours when the time for my sentence comes, but at least I'll know I won't have betrayed myself. It's still more than some people can say."

Looking at him, Mitaka had the feeling that he didn't understand. Or that he didn't _want_ to. Either way, he prayed his words had instilled enough doubt into to push him to let Hux be until judgement day would come for him too. He had hated to see the pained expression flashing on his face when they had talked about Ben. A General shouldn't meet the Maker with his pride in pieces and his eyes downcast.

"It pains me to hear that you feel this way..." the rest of Ben's words were lost as the hatch of the ship was lowered with a loud metallic noise.

One of the guards was back at his side, now. He nudged his shoulder with the muzzle of his weapon, a silent order to follow him. Mitaka stalled, just long enough to give Ben one last piece of his mind. "I would wish you good luck, but you're fighting a battle you can't win. Ironic, I know. But I, for one, am glad for it. I can't bear the thought of the General being reduced to a shadow of his former self. Like you have."

He smiled to himself, then, proud of his own resolve.

The guard made to grab him by the shoulder and pull him along but, before he could drag him back to join his unfortunate brothers in arms, Ben raised a hand. "Wait!"

The guard shot him an annoyed look. "There's no time for that. The ship needs to take off by sundown."

Ben stepped forward, hand outstretched. And then Mitaka felt it. The heaviness in the air around him, like the sky a moment before thunder struck. It made him shiver in spite of the warm breeze sweeping the plain, instinct kicking in and screaming at him to run before he realised that whatever powerful force Ben was about to unleash, it wasn't directed at him but rather at the man standing next to him.

"Find an excuse to embark this prisoner on a separate ship, take him to Coruscant and leave him there with a blaster and some credits. He'll choose for himself where he wants to go from there."

"Will do," the guard simply said, offering him a salute.

"When you come back, tell your superiors he escaped. Tell them he stole a blaster and threatened you, it doesn't matter as long as you can come up with something."

Eyes wide and still struggling to make sense of the scene unfolding right before him, Mitaka could only mumble a confused: "What are you-- why?"

"You're not a bad man, Dopheld," Ben said, turning to face him. "Your loyalty is just misguided."

When he was finally able to regain his composure, Mitaka sighed shaking his head. "I really wish you would stop saying things that. I can see why the General can't stand to talk to you."

The mention of Hux's title appeared to have an effect on Ben, who went back to his downcast expression as the air settled around him. "He's not lost. I'll make him understand."

"Whatever you say, Ben. Whatever you say."

Lieutenant Mitaka departed for an uncertain, yet significatively brighter than expected, future with a bittersweet taste in his mouth and no regrets. Or, well, one regret. He could only hope the General would follow his advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: shows a character has been hurt to up the emotional stakes
> 
> Also me: dedicates an entire interlude to said character because is feeling guilty about it


	5. Tipping The Scales

Hux squinted as he stepped out of the darkness and into the blinding light. The planet that had been both his home and his prison for the past weeks seemed to have an exceptionally bright star as its source of warmth. That, or his eyes were so unused to it that even the first, pale rays of morning were almost too much to bear. He hesitated, looking down at his own shadow cast on the grass at his feet, until he judged it safe to move a few more careful steps forward. His vision was adapting. Slowly but surely his surroundings came into focus.

The dozens of ships he had seen on his first day of incarceration were gone, their owners itching to engage in more urgent business – namely, the reconstruction of the once glorious Republic on the ashes of its most vicious enemy. Only a couple of carrier ships were left, with a handful of officers seeing to the loading and unloading of new prisoners. A camp bustling with activity had been set up in the clearing that gave way to the woods, dense with tall trees on every side.

At a glance, Hux could tell it was nothing like the planet-prisons used by the First Order. He had never visited them in person, but from the accounts of his subordinates he knew they were nothing more than desolate piles of rock floating somewhere in the Outer Rim, guarded by a handful of low-ranking troopers. No need to waste an entire unit of skilled soldiers to keep watch. Anyone who knew how to use a blaster could carry out the simple command they were given before being left alone with the prisoners: shoot on sight.

"They didn't fix your leg."

Hux started and immediately hated himself for it. He had been so caught up in his reminiscing of a long-gone past that he had forgotten about Ben's presence, despite his tall figure looming over him. "They didn't bother, only took care of life-threatening injuries. They were probably told to make sure I would be alive for the trial and they did just that."

"I'll see if I can procure you a cane, next time," Ben mused. "Or maybe I could try to fix it myself."

That very morning, Ben had barged into his cell with his customary lack of grace announcing than he had been given permission to take him on a stroll outside. It would do him some good, he had insisted, as Hux scoffed at him. Get a breath of fresh hair. Clear your thoughts. Hux had stopped him before he could go back to his favourite topic of conversation: his supposed redemption.

Still, he hadn't found it in himself to refuse. The idea of breathing in something that wasn't the stale stench permeating the prison sounded entirely too appealing to let the opportunity to leave his cage pass by. Yet another proof of how time was slowly eating away all the remnants of his pride, like a pack of hungry hyenas picking a carcass apart.

"Last I checked you didn't have medical training."

"That shouldn't be a problem. I would be using the Force to transfer some of my energy to your body, helping it heal and regenerate," he said, offering what Hux supposed was meant be an encouraging smile. The mere thought of being subjected to the workings of the strange and occult powers Ben was able to bend at his will made him uneasy. "A simple process, actually. I've only seen it done once, but I'm sure I can replicate it."

Hux had never been comfortable with the idea of an invisible yet deadly force surrounding Ren at all times, ready to be weaponized with a snap of his fingers. The air always seemed to vibrate whenever he walked into a room. Even now, though muted, he could feel it each time Ben got a little too close. He had been wary of his magic tricks long before he had been granted the dubious privilege of tasting them on his own skin, invisible hands clutching his throat, digging into his flesh, pressing down, down until his vision was filled with dark spots.

He would have gladly limped and stumbled through the rest of his life – not much left of it, anyway. He waved his hand dismissively. "Forget it."

"As you wish."

"Would it kill you force your hand, every now and then?"

"I see no reason to," Ben shrugged. "It's your leg. Your life. The choice is entirely yours. I wouldn't dream of forcing you to take the path _I_ would choose. That's not how it works. Change too – it has to come from--"

"From within, yes," Hux interrupted him, too tired put up with any more of his philosophic delusions. "I've heard that before."

If anything, that shut him up.

Making his way through the camp, Hux forced himself to hide the wince of pain twisting his features every time his left foot touched the ground. The result was an even more affected gait that did nothing to conceal his discomfort. He passed by three off-duty Resistance officers playing some kind of card game he didn't recognise. They looked away as soon as their eyes met his. Hux enjoyed a brief rush of satisfaction before reality came back down crushing on him, a wicked voice in his head suggesting him that they weren't afraid of him, but rather of the Force-user trailing behind him like a well-trained dog.

Hux smiled bitterly to himself and walked on.

The further he wandered from the outpost, the more the tension in his shoulders started to ease. A light breeze was blowing through the leaves, bringing him the distant song of a species he didn't recognise. He let himself enjoy it, knowing full well that it might be his last. It was relieving, in a way. For weeks, the only thing that had managed to keep him relatively sane had been the knowledge that sooner or later it would be all over. And who knew, if the old Kylo Ren really was dead, as Ben liked to remind him, perhaps they would meet on the other side and laugh together at the bumbling fool who had taken his place.

"Someone told me there's a monster in the lake," he heard Ben say, somewhere behind him. He didn't bother to turn around. He kept staring ahead at the expanse of water that had materialised amongst the trees. "I've never seen it myself, but...I wouldn't call it a monster, though. Whatever it is, this creature is only following its instinct. Animals don't have a choice simply because they can't understand the concept of good and evil. Unlike us."

Hux let out a sound halfway between a laugh and snort, still managing to offer him one of his best unimpressed looks from over his shoulder. "This has to be one of your least convincing arguments to date. It's pretty clear I have no intention of...what was it that you said the las time? Ah, find the spark of light shining in the hidden corners of my being. Why persist?"

"You might think so," Ben argued. "But deep down we all want to be redeemed and I know, I know it's hard to do it alone. That's why I'm here with you. My father came to me in my darkest hour, he helped me through it. I want to be the one offering you a hand when all hope seems lost. It's only fair, after everything I've put you through."

"You hallucinated," Hux scoffed. If even the pleasant caress of the wind on his face was struggling to keep the frustration at bay, he might have been heading towards dangerous territory. He allowed himself the time to take a breath before continuing. "You were dying and you hallucinated your father – the man you killed – and the rest happened only in your head. The rebel scum you surround yourself with with indulged you because it's exactly what they wanted. To have strong, stupid weapon at their disposal." His gaze drifted towards Ben's hands. He desperately wanted to see his fists clench or, even better, reach for the saber dangling from his belt. Much to his chagrin, there was no overt reaction, no barely suppressed twitch of anger.

Moreover, the picture Ben's story had conjured up in Hux's mind was disquieting. There had been nights he woke up drenched in sweat with Brendol's mocking smirk branded on the back of his eyelids, terrified to drift back to sleep because he knew the ghost of his father would be there to haunt him. The nightmares might have disappeared after a while, but he had no desire to prompt them to resurface now that his mind was in shambles.

"You speak of redemption, but if I ever have to see that kr--"

"It doesn't have to be him," Ben hurried to clarify. "It can be someone you loved, someone you trusted. Someone you'd be willing to forgive."

Hux let out a bitter chuckle.

_Someone he trusted._ It was absurd, so much so that it was almost amusing. He had spent decades watching his own back, knowing all too well that a split second of distraction could have resulted in the sharp edge of blade between his ribs. Ren must have known that feeling too. But the man looking back at him wasn't Kylo Ren, was he? Ren was no more. All his hate and passion had blown out like a candle in the wind.

And as far as forgiveness went, well, that just wasn't in his nature.

He picked up a small rock and threw it as far as he could. The weeks of captivity must have taken their toll on his body just as much as they had on his mind, as the makeshift projectile covered scarcely more than a few feet before it disappeared underwater.

"I don't know about you," Hux said, bending his sound knee to pick up another rock. "But this seems like a whole lot of useless effort. Whether I do go through this change or I do not, the outcome is the same. I won't live to see the consequences."

He threw it, satisfied to see it bounce three times on the clear surface of the lake before it started to sink. For a single moment, he thought he had seen a black shadow moving in wide circles around the sinking stone. When he blinked, it was gone.

"Not necessarily."

Hux turned around with one eyebrow raised, bracing for the umpteenth monologue about the spirit of pure-hearted people living on after their demise. Nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

"Remember I talked about exile?" Ben asked. "Unfortunately, the council feels the punishment would be too tame for your actions. However, seeing as you contributed to the fall of the First Ordering during the last act of the war, they are thinking about commuting your execution to a life sentence. It's not what I wanted for you, but it's still better than the alternative. I have let them know I'm in favour of that."

Hux swallowed, tasting nothing but his own bile. He could already feel himself starting to hyperventilate. His heart sunk, a sudden, tangible weight in the pit of his stomach.

His only hope for a dignified demise was gone, just like that. What was left was an eternity of psychological torture. He could see himself locked up in a gilded cage, losing his mind bit by excruciating bit as his hair went grey and his strengths, as well as his resolve to keep fighting, abandoned him for good. Ben would be visiting him on a daily basis, of course he would, and the discordant sound of his words would replay over and over and over inside his head until the last ounce of coherent thought vanished, and he was left rambling nonsense about love and peace and forgiveness for the rest of his miserable existence.

"You won't be serving it here, obviously. I'm guessing they'll transfer you to a new facility where you can have a bigger cell, windows, regular meals. Maybe even a proper room with a bed and..." Ben was still speaking, but it didn't matter. Nothing he might have said to reassure him did. Progressively, his voice became little more than background noise, drowned by the ringing in his ears.

Hux gritted his teeth, unsure whether he was trying to keep himself from lunging at the other man or from throwing up his last meagre meal. They were going to keep him. Like one keeps a pet or an old piece of memorabilia. The top General of the First Order reduced to a trophy. A curiosity to sneer and cackle at.

The voice of his father filled his ears, a vicious taunt from beyond the grave. He could hear him loud and clear inside his head, as if he were still living, as if the remnants of his corpse weren’t buried in a shallow grave back on Arkanis, his legacy buried with them. He was there with him, digging the heel of his boot in his bruised flesh, calling him useless, a disgrace of a son, a coward.

_Not a coward. Not a coward, not a coward, notacoward, nota..._

Hux shut his eyes, pressing the palm of his hands against his closed eyelids and took a series of deep breaths, never seeming to take in enough air. By the time he opened them again, Ben had moved towards him, both hands raised as to show him that he had nothing to fear.

And how wrong he was.

"I understand your shock, I'm sorry, I should have been more--"

"You don't understand a _kriffing_ thing, Ben!" Hux shouted, his voice scraping the walls of his throat like a knife's edge. "If there's something of the old Ren still in there and you're doing this to make a fool of me, or to make my last days miserable before it's all over, then fine. I'll accept it. I'll welcome it, even! But please, don't say you're doing this for my own good."

"Armitage..." Ben tried. He didn't let him finish.

"And don't try to sell me the idea that everyone wants to be redeemed, because whatever happened to you, whatever turned you into _this_ ," he rasped, breath coming out in short pants in between words. "It scares me. It scares me more than I'd like to admit, more than the thought of offering myself to blaster fire. Come on now, you're welcome to laugh at me."

The worst thing was that Ben didn't. He didn't laugh. He didn't make fun of him, he didn't ask why. He just stared, like one stares at a man who's completely, utterly out of his mind. And maybe he was. "I was scared too, you know. I felt like I didn't know who I was anymore. It was devastating, and yet..."

"Shut up!" Each sound that came out of his mouth hurt like hell, but he would have been damned if he let him talk him down like you do with a misbehaving child. "Shut up, Ben, or I swear..."

To do what? He felt the woods start to close on him, slowly, relentlessly, underlining his helplessness and, at the same time, aggravating his frustration. For the first time since the beginning of his personal nightmare, Hux felt himself close to breaking into hysterics.

Before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, Ben seemed to grow aware of his conditions. He stepped back, lowered his hands, and offered him a concerned little frown. "You're right, you're-- I'm sorry. You told me you find it hard to talk to me and I ignored you. It's only right I let you process your emotions on your own," he concluded.

And he did just that.

Hux would have been hard pressed to tell for how long he walked around in silence, this way and that without a specific purpose in mind, Ben trailing behind him and never letting him out of his sight. The calm and the quiet that had been soothing before, now only exacerbated the frightening, chaotic nature of his thoughts.

Only when the sky turned red with the light of the setting sun, did he speak again. "I think we should go back."

In spite of himself, Hux had to agree.

****

By the time they made it back to the camp sunset had given way to dark, chilly night. The few people that were still lingering around, attending to their last duties for the day, scurried inside as soon as they saw them approaching.

"They're scared of you," Hux observed.

For a long while, he wondered if he had even shared the thought out loud. Silence hung heavy around them, filling the cracks on the ground at their feet, insinuating through the narrow spaces between houses and tents. The outpost seemed to collectively hold its breath.

"They have no reason to be," Ben said, voice low and still the loudest sound in miles. His brows were furrowed, as if he found the very idea preposterous.

"A shot in the dark, here, but maybe it's because they don't see poor repented Ben Solo, when they look at you. Whether you like it or not, most of the probably still see the unrelenting fighter who killed and tortured hundreds of their fellow soldiers to get his hands on the whereabouts of Luke Skywalker – their hero."

Once again, Ben considered his words for what felt like an eternity. "Then it means that I will have to do my best to show them that the monster is gone. I'll devote the rest of my life to it, if necessary."

"And what if they ask you to fight alongside them?" He paused. "Wait, no, let me guess. Violence is never the answer?"

Ben's answer was prompt, like he had been anticipating Hux's sarcastic remark. "Violence is to be used sparingly and only when absolutely necessary. And even then, there needs to be a balance between the light and the darker impulses that live inside each one of us."

"Hypothetically speaking," Hux went on, ignoring his incoherent babbling. "What would it take to tip the scales?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some movement inside one of the tents. A young woman or a child, it was hard to tell from the distance, peeking her head through the slit that served as an entrance. What he saw on her face could have been hesitant curiosity as much as it could have been ill-concealed fear. The second she realised he had sensed her presence, she disappeared behind the cloth. Returning his attention to Ben, Hux wondered what kind of life he was living in the outside world, while he rotted in his cell. Did they dare to approach him? Did they smile politely at him when they locked eyes only to hurry away from him as soon as he turned his back? Did they welcome him with open arms, pretend to believe his unexpected change of heart, all the while keeping their weapons at the ready?

Then, he realised that Ben hadn't yet answered his question.

To be fair, it had been meant as a rhetorical jab for the sake of seeing if he would have fed him the umpteenth pre-prepared answer or if he would have budged, stumbled through his words a bit before settling for some incomprehensible gibberish. Hux had kept arguing purely for his own amusement – and to silence the voices that kept reminding him about what lay ahead now that he had been oh so generously gifted with many more years to live – knowing full well that trying to reason with Ben wasn't at all unlike beating a dead Bantha with a stick and expecting it to get up and keep walking.

Except he might have miscalculated. The sudden, unexpected bout of hesitation on his part opened a new world full of possibilities. Unknowingly, he had posed the proverbial armour-piercing question. Hux stopped in his tracks, turning to face him instead.

Ben hadn't moved. It was hard to tell under the feeble artificial light of the lampposts, but every muscle seemed to tense under the fabric of his clothes. He looked hesitant. Distraught, almost. He wasn't even looking at him, no, his eyes were fixed somewhere beyond him, beyond the camp, deep into the of the forest. He wondered if he really did see something out there in the forest or if the turmoil was all in his head.

"That is a dangerous question."

Ah. So it _was_ all in his head.

"I'm aware," Hux was quick to reply. "Oh, don't get the wrong idea, Ben. It's just...personal curiosity. Yes, I guess you could call it that."

He would have lied if he had said he didn't enjoy the hint of discomfort in Ben's voice. He wanted to hear more. And what was stopping him from toying with him for a little while? Nothing to lose, everything to gain. And the tempting perspective of toying with him for as long as he liked, to his black hole of a heart's content. A parting gift from himself to himself.

"I can't think of a single thing so devastating that would push me to turn my back on my sacrifices."

The corner of Hux's mouth twitched. "I can think of a few."

A challenge.

He didn't elaborate, he knew Ben was naive and infuriatingly stubborn when he wanted to be, but he wasn't stupid. He could take the hint. Whether he would accept it, now, that was another question altogether.

There was no prelude to the feeling of an invisible presence trying to sneak its way inside his head. It took Hux no shortage of willpower to persuade his mind to accept the intrusion instead of scrambling to build a barrier to defend himself, like he had gotten used to do every time he crossed Ren in the hallways of his ship, keeping him from catching an unwanted glimpse of his thoughts.

The picture he conjured in his mind's eye was everything he would have dreaded had he been in Ben's place. Faceless Resistance fighters whispering between themselves where Ben could see them but not hear them. He could pretend all he wated, but they knew the truth. They weren't going to keep living in fear. They had been for so, so long already. And so they smiled at him, greeted him like one of their own, kept their intentions a secret until the day they would gather enough courage to turn their blasters against him and do what needed to be done: put him down like a rabid animal. Oh, Ben would try to talk himself out of it for sure. Right up until the moment the first warning shot pierced his flesh. They would laugh at him. Call him a failure, a pathetic wretched little man, a pale imitation of the Dark Side warriors who had come before him, as they watched him stumble and slowly closed in on him.

Instinct was bound to take over, then.

He pictured Ben crushing a man's throat with a single gesture of his hand, the rest of them screaming in terror while trying to run, to hide, or find any other way to escape his wrath. But there would be no shelter when Ben's composure lay in a million fractured shards and he had gotten a first taste of what he once was – what he could be again. Not when he reached for his lightsaber and...

Ben retreated from his mind so abruptly that his breath was knocked out of his lungs and he couldn't suppress a quiet gasp.

"Those days are over, Hux. It saddens me to see you're still attached to all the suffering I brought into this Galaxy," he was tangentially aware that he had used his last name instead of the much-hated _Armitage_. It sounded wrong in Ben's mouth and yet, so, so right. "Believe me, I try, but I can't understand your fascination. You said it yourself, multiple times when you thought I wasn't listening. Kylo Ren was a brute. More animal than man."

"That you were," the shadow of a ferocious grin formed at the edges of Hux's lips as he spoke. "A childish beast of a man with no regard for the lives he destroyed provided he got what he wanted in the end. But with such power! I thought I despised you, I convinced myself of that. But you see, Ben, the truth is that I envied you."

Ben shook his head in exasperation. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Perhaps."

"Trust me," Ben went on. "The connection to the Force is a burden as much as it is a gift."

"A burden I would bear gladly," Hux had been closing the distance between them without even realising. Seized by a sudden urge he couldn't describe, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with both hands and yanked him down to force him to stare at him in the eyes. They were close, now. So close that that he could feel Ben's irregular breathing on his own heated skin. Another a couple of inches more and their foreheads would have touched. "Can't you see, Ben? You were so preoccupied with apologising on your past self's behalf for making me a ruthless man, but you made me into this. You made me into a man who has nothing to lose."

"It wasn't my intention."

"Well, tough luck!" He spat. "It only means you'll get to watch as the kindness of your dear little friends consumes me from the inside out. Who knows, maybe then you'll finally come back to your senses."

"You're deluded. I didn't want to even think about this possibility, at first, but it's clear you are a lost cause. The dreadful scenario you fantasize about, it will never happen," Ben spoke close to a whisper.

"Then I will wait. No matter how long it takes, no matter how much suffering they put me through in the meantime, I promise you I'll survive until the day comes. The day your so-called friends turn against you, the day the thread snaps and you let the beast loose," Hux said, drinking in the desperation in Ben's eyes, sweeter than wine he had gotten half-drunk on in a vain attempt at chasing away his demons. The tone of his voice raised higher and higher until he was all but shouting. "Because that day _will_ come and it will mark my greatest victory since the destruction of the Hosnian system!"

"Enough!"

Ben's voice wasn't the plea of a conflicted man. It was the roar of an inhuman creature. Hux didn't hear it, he _felt it_ , resounding through his bones like lightning bolt, time slowing down around the edges.

"Ren..." he tried, releasing him from his grasp, then taking a cautious step back.

Ben had his eyes closed yet the strenuous effort he was making was evident in the way his was set tight, his features twisted. With a mixture of horror and delight, Hux realised he was trembling. One of the lampposts to his right emitted a low buzzing sound before bursting in a small explosion of glass and electrical wiring. The others flickered in sympathy.

Hux was hit by a strange sensation. Too much time passed locked away in a tiny black hole, where there was nowhere to flee and fighting resulted in a blaster pointed between his eyes, had caused his fight-or-flight response to atrophy like a muscle that hasn't been used in ages. He found himself tensing involuntarily, adrenaline flowing through his veins. It was strange, to see his mind body react to something he had thought forgotten. But oh, it felt _good._

"I need," Ben breathed hard, giving off the impression of a man drowning in the invisible sea of his own power, refusing to be restrained any longer. His eyes darted this way and that in search of something he couldn't find, and yet they never, not for a single moment landed on Hux. "I need to take you back to your cell. They must be wondering where we are, by now."

"Ren, look at me."

"No!" Ben growled. The remaining lampposts blinked on and off again, cutting off any further attempt Hux might have made to drag on their confrontation. "I said enough."

For the remainder of their short trip back to the prison block, Ben didn't dare cast a single glance in his direction.


	6. Darkness Reigns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As further demonstration that I cannot be trusted with lonfics, it took me more than a month to finish writing the last chapter. While I do have excuses for the delay (most of them of the academic variety), I still feel immensely guilty for taking so long. But welll…there’s not much I can do about it now, is there? Anyway, hope you all enjoy the end of this madness!

The soldiers escorting him out of the courthouse were doing a very poor job at hiding their contempt. No need for words, Hux sensed how each of them was a different stage of unhappy with the sentence that had granted him one more day to live. Or, well, many more days.

Four to one. In any other circumstance he would have been flattered. It might have had something to do with the cane they provided for him just before he was brought before the judges and the jury of the court-martial. Their sudden unwillingness to let him limp and stumble his way up the steps of the defendant's stand was easily explained – the more noble and threatening the enemy, the braver the army that had subdued him. It was the oldest trick in the book.

The trial had been anything but the quick affair he had hoped for. Hux had been surprised to find that he was allowed to give his testimony, which he had done with the customary detachment he hadn't sported ever since his capture, unmoving in front of the looks of hatred on the prosecutors' faces and the almost comically scandalised gasps of the audience.

_"Are you aware that the actions you are describing correspond to the definition of war crimes and are therefore punishable by death?"_

_"Absolutely."_

He had offered the judge a humourless smile when he had asked him if his choice to relay important information to the Resistance had been prompted by a growing sentiment of sympathy towards their cause, then had proceeded to delve into the real reasons why he had embarked on his suicidal mission, from the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of Pryde and his cronies, to the utter disgust he felt whenever he contemplated the possibility of Kylo Ren being crowned victorious. He had made sure to reiterate multiple times that, as far he was concerned, there was no nobler cause than ridding the Galaxy of an undisciplined Force user who had let power go to his head. All in all, he had done his utmost to earn the death sentence that, given the alternative, appeared to be the most desirable outcome.

But of course, the New Republic was merciful just as the universe was cruel and the verdict had been the very one he had been dreading: life sentence, to be served in jail on a planet whose name he didn't recognise, but assumed was soon going to become the seat of the new interplanetary government. Had he been a spiritual person he would have recognised it as the karmic comeuppance for all the events he had described in unflinching detail to the horrified members of the court, as well as his stubborn refusal to betray the ideals of the First Order. It was all too unfortunate that the closest thing he had ever had to a spiritual experience had been being almost choked to death by Ren's powers, when the man was still in his right mind and able to tell reality and illusion apart.

Speaking of which – Ben seemed to have vanished into thin air.

He hadn't spotted him in the crowd gathered outside the building, nor in the sea of spectators that had been lucky enough to find a place to sit or to stand inside, before the heavy doors were closed and the trial began. Hux wasn't surprised, by any means. The last time he had seen him had been back at the camp, the dark night he had been able to catch a glimpse of the beast that lay dormant inside him. Or maybe not so dormant after all.

The poor bastard must have been so frightened by it, that he had decided not to test his luck any further. The visits had stopped, as had the small gifts of alcohol and additional food rations, leaving Hux alone with his thoughts and the chatting of the rebels standing guard outside, at all hours of the day and night. The only way he was able to tell he was still alive and kicking, offering his humble contribution to the restoration of the Republic, was because during the long journey that had taken him from his prison to the new Resistance headquarters he had had more than one occasion to overhear the rebels complaining about his presence, of how he had unjustly received a much more lenient treatment compared to the other First Order commanders who had been captured, tried and sentenced according to their crimes. It had been somewhat relieving to find that not everyone had been talked into a stupor by Ben's rambling speeches about the power of goodwill and repentance.

The crowd that had watched him ascend the marble staircase a few hours before had dispersed, probably out of boredom and disappointment when they realised the execution they had been waiting for wasn't going to begin any sooner. Only a handful of curious people remained, pretending to be wandering aimlessly around the square while casting him furtive glances from afar.

In a few days' time, footage of the disgraced General's final defeat was going to be broadcasted far and wide, for all the New Republic citizens to see. The thought alone caused him to swallow down a gulp of bitter bile. He didn't stop walking, though, if only because he knew one of the soldiers accompanying him would have shoved him forwards at the first sign of disobedience on his part. And he was weak, too weak after days of reduced rations to be able to put up any kind of resistance.

As he was made to walk inside the hangar, where a small shuttle was already waiting for him, he couldn't help but notice a small group of people in full pilot gear bustling around and chatting animatedly in between themselves. Not a second later, they were approached by a nervous-looking Resistance officer. With a nod of his head, one of the guards gestured for the others to keep watch on the prisoner as he spoke to his colleague.

"Stay," he mumbled in his direction.

_Stay._

_And move, and speak, and shut up, and do a clever trick to amuse the audience, now._

_And yessir and no sir._

Hux was reminded of the academy and of his Father, and of General kriffing Pryde with his smug half-smile as he robbed him of his rightful place at the top of the food chain. His white-knuckled grip on the handle of his cane became almost painful. He needed to take his mind elsewhere. To fall victim of the madness that lingered at the edges of his mind, waiting to confuse his thoughts to the point of making him incapable of distinguishing past humiliations from those that awaited him in his new life so soon...no, that wouldn't do.

The officer who had interrupted their little parade spoke in agitated tones, mumbling half of the words, to the point that it was almost impossible to grasp a full sentence. "...tried to break into the courthouse."

"How many?" asked.

"Six or seven, sir. We're not sure."

"You said they were mercenaries?"

"Well, some of them at least. We were able to identify their leader, sir, a former First Order officer. Unfortunately, he fled as soon as we took down two of his men. The pilot we sent after him lost track of his ship after it made the jump."

Hux found himself witnessing the exchange with unexpected disinterest. That somewhere in the Galaxy the Order still had its loyalists was a given. There were bound to be, much like there had been after the fall of the Empire, both among the few surviving higher ranking officers who had evaded capture and the populations of the worlds where the Order had brought wealth and prosperity during the war. It was stupid to think their desperate efforts would be enough for the Order to rise again, stronger and fiercer than before.

_Not while I'm still sane_ , _at least,_ he thought bitterly.

All of a sudden, he felt a shiver run over his skin, like electric current beneath the fabric of the uniform that they had kindly returned him for the duration of the trial. Then he saw him.

Ben stood there, stock-still, as if the sight of him had caused a short-circuit in his brain. Hux wondered when he had learn to move so silently, when back in the day his appearances were always foreshadowed by the heavy stomping of boots on durasteel and the panicked shouting of the officers who had been unlucky enough to find themselves in his way.

His lips curled into something that looked too much like a nauseated grimace to pass for a smile. "I had heard some rumours about your untimely death. I must admit I'm quite disappointed to see they were wrong. I'm guessing you're here because you want me to thank you?"

"Thank me?" Ben asked, features scrunching up in a bemused expression. He looked lost, like puppy dog that lost sight of its master.

Hux had forgotten how infuriating Ben could be. All it took was one word, coupled with the disoriented look in his eyes, and all the frustration mitigated by endless weeks of confinement in the half-darkness of a filthy cell came back with a vengeance. He had no right to play dumb, to pretend not to understand so he could lie to himself a little longer and claim that his words or actions were never meant to cause him any further suffering.

"Of course," he went on, the tone of his voice grating and full of loathing. "You were so proud of backing up the council's idea of commuting my execution into a life sentence. So kind of you. What can I say? Enjoy your victory."

He must have moved subconsciously, at some point, because the three guards that were still with him stiffened, one of them rushing to put a firm hand on his shoulder as a silent warning. He forced himself to relax, or at least pretend to.

Ben didn't acknowledge the three men flanking him, nor the wary glances they shot him as they silently persuaded Hux to back down. "If it makes you feel any better, I won't be around to see it."

Hux took in the bag slug over Ben's shoulder, the small ship waiting for him in the hangar, the mechanics bustling about performing the last routine checks and adjustments, the scarce luggage and useful supplies resting on the ground by the open hatch.

"You're leaving."

"I need some time to clear my head."

Hux quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Ben didn't bother to comment on his exaggerated display of surprise. "I should have listened to you. You told me you were far beyond saving, but all I could think about was proving you wrong. I tried to turn you towards the light, and I all obtained was you dragging me back down towards the darkness. So foolish of me. But I must thank you – it's a mistake I won't make in the future."

The words were uttered without a pause, each line delivered as if it was scripted. They probably were. Hux found some unexpected amusement in picturing Ben sitting at a desk, pen in hand, drafting the perfect speech to bid him farewell. He felt a strange ache in his chest, something he couldn't quite describe try as he might. A part of him couldn't help but suggest _disappointment_. Forget the battle of Exegol, this was the final victory of the Rebellion over the forces of the First Order. Its two most feared leaders, who a lifetime before had inspired thousands of loyal soldiers to charge into battle, drained of their willpower, destined to live what was left of their existence in a world they didn't belong.

"Typical," Hux huffed. "It's funny how some things never change, isn't it? All that talk of atoning for your past mistakes, and yet you still cannot bear to witness first-hand the consequences of your actions, even those you claim are for the greater good. I wasn't lying when I said there's still too much of Ren left in you for you to pretend you have left your old life behind."

The frown deepened on Ben's face. He looked ridiculous, like a child about to throw a tantrum. The hint of familiarity sharpened the ache in Hux's chest. "Don't blame your choices on me. You chose your own path as I did mine."

"What's going on here?"

The leader of the group, who up until that moment had been too busy listening to a detailed if frenzied account of the attempted break-in at the court, shoved his way past Hux, to come and stand between him and Ben.

"Sir...they're just talking," the guard to Hux's right tried.

His concern was dismissed with a sharp tsk. "Never understood why the higher-ups let this one walk," The others nodded in agreement though the discomfort was evident on their faces. "He's redeemed, they say. I'll tell you what he is, he's a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in our faces when we least expect it."

"I can't say I disagree," Hux interjected with a sneer. "You can't keep a Force user around like a little pet. Would you keep a raquor'daan on a leash? No, I don't think so."

"Shut up you!" The rebel snapped, but the order lacked force.

He wasn't interested in him anymore, despite the way he had revelled in taunting him for the entire duration of his trip to the courthouse, earlier. Not when he had a much more tempting prize right in front of him. Oh, Hux knew his type. The one that thrived in the admiration of his peers, that liked to boast and brag incessantly about his accomplishment and cracked when he failed to receive the recognition he thought he deserved. He could safely bet he was already picturing himself covered in credits and glory for having saved the Republic from its last dangerous foe, when no-one else had dared to step up to the task.

He watched him walk over to Ben, who in the meantime had crossed his arms to his chest and observed the little man with something between confusion and genuine curiosity. The rebel didn't let himself be intimidated by the way he was forced to tilt his head up if he wanted to stare at him in the eye – if anything, the challenge seemed spur him on, pushing him to accentuate his bravado to an almost obnoxious extent.

His fellow soldiers, for their part, stared at him with the air of someone who would have very much liked to be anywhere else rather than stuck in a small hangar, with a dangerous prisoner to keep an eye on, while at the same time witnessing a bizarre confrontation between one of their own and the former scourge of the First Order.

"C'm on, Vic, he's harmless. What do you care?" One of them attempted, as a way of dissuading him.

"What do I care?" The man repeated, turning around to offer the young man who had spoken up a disapproving look, before returning to grant Ben his undivided attention. "Well, let's see. My family was in Tuanul, the day he ransacked the village with his stormtroopers. What do you think happened to them?"

With that, he placed the muzzle of his weapon right under his jaw. It took all of Hux's self-control not to flinch in sympathy. Ben didn't move, didn't recoil, though his muscles did jump when cold metal brushed against his skin.

"I understand how you feel," he said. "And I assure you, you have all the rights to bear a grudge against me. I myself feel ashamed of what I've done to countless innocents in the past. This is why I'm leaving, heading to somewhere I can find some peace with the intention to spend the rest of my life trying to make amends."

"Make amends, you say? Well, I do know a few ways you could do just that, if you're interested. Right here, right now, no need to strand yourself on a deserted planet in the Outer Rim." The man's index grazed the trigger with a deliberately slow movement.

It would have been all too easy for him to pull it now, and justify his decision in front of his superiors with a fabricated story on how the Big Bad Force User had attacked him while he was carrying out his everyday duties. No-one would bother to question him. Actually, some of them would probably welcome it as a blessing in disguise – one less problem to worry about.

Ren would never have let such an insult go unpunished, but Ben? Something told him that Ben would, and he found himself hating him more for his silent acceptance in the face of humiliation than he had ever had for his stupid sermons.

The rebel snorted. "No reaction, eh? Well guys, seems like you were right. He's mild as a lamb." He turned his back to Ben, an unbearably smug grin plastered on his face.

One moment he was chuckling along with his brothers in arms, the next his eyes were going wide with surprise, quickly morphing into unrestrained terror. Hux watched in morbid fascination as the man's hands flew to his own throat, in vain. The garbled sounds he made when it was crushed by the invisible force constricting around his neck would have made anyone's stomach clench in disgust. But not Hux, no. To him, it was the sound of triumph.

And he was an opportunist as much as he was a strategist. The importance of being able to seize an opportunity when it presented itself had been ingrained into his mind as soon as he had learned how to walk on his own feet. Seize it, sink your teeth down on it and never let go. The next move came to him without needing to think too hard about it.

His cane made an awful noise when it collided against the closest rebel's legs, the impact most likely shattering the bone. Hux didn't stop to check. He snatched the blaster from the man's belt and put an end to his agony with a single shot to the head. The remaining two were less of a problem – the first one had hardly the time to raise his hands in a silent plea before he pulled the trigger and left a smoking hole in the middle of his ches. The second one was struck by Ben's wrath before he could even try and call for help, and collapsed without a sound while blood started to trickle down the corner of his mouth, his nostrils and his ears.

Then he turned to Ben.

He was breathing hard, shaking and staring at his own hands as if he couldn't believe he had been the one to snap and make his aggressor choke around nothing with so little effort. Oh, but he had. He had and something told Hux that the fracture this sudden, instinctual decision had caused was there to stay. At the very least, he would do everything in his power to make sure it did.

When he sensed his eyes on him, Ben raised his head and looked at him through unruly strands of dark hair. And Hux saw it, the wild glint in his eyes that was missing from Ben's glances, giving him the impression of staring at the empty shell of someone he used to know instead of at a real human being.

"What have you done to me?" He panted.

Hux laughed. Louder than the horrified scream of the witnesses fleeing the scene in a disorganized rush, louder than the sirens that had started blaring somewhere in the distance to alert everyone that something wasn't right. He laughed, until there was no air left in his lungs and he bent forwards, coughing and gasping and yet unable to wipe away the smile spreading over his lips.

"Nothing. This," he said, spreading his arms as he stood among the four soldiers lying lifeless at their feet. "Is all you. How does it feel to let go?"

Ben didn't respond. For a moment, he seemed to be caught between retreating and snapping back at him like a cornered animal. Refusing to let himself be discouraged by his reticence, Hux stepped forwards. He still had the fallen rebel's blaster clutched in his right hand, but he was a fool if he believed such a simple weapon would stand a chance against the raw, destructive nature of Ben's powers.

"How does it feel," he insisted, closing the distance in between them step after careful step, hyper-aware of Ben's eyes following his every movement. "To take back what's yours? Your pride, your power. Your vengeance."

"You don't understand! This -- this is why I have to leave, to be as far from you as the universe will allow. To prevent things like this from ever happening again," Ben spoke, chest heaving under the weight of his laboured breath.

Hux clicked his tongue in mock-disappointment. "We're far beyond lies, Ben. Look at what you've done and tell me you wouldn't do it again. Then tell me this was just self-defence, or tell me it's a reflex from a past you'll spend the rest of your life regretting. A past you don't miss one bit, not even when you lie awake at night, knowing that you could have it it all back and _more_ , if you only wanted to," he paused. There was something akin to desperation in the other man's eyes. Or perhaps it was hunger. "I'll ask you again – how does it feel?"

Ben licked his lips. Hux could almost feel effort it took him to let his voice out, along with an agonized breath right before he said: "Good."

A confession contained in a single, shameful word that sent a chilling sensation down Hux's spine, somewhere between pleasure and fear. Ben stretched his arm out in front of him and they were so close, now, that his fingers could have easily closed around his throat for a more personal, maybe more satisfying kind of revenge. Hux stilled, the heart that had been hammering against his ribcage appearing to do the same, yet he didn't lower his eyes.

_Killed by the beast you helped unleash, wouldn't that be wonderful?_

A strangled cry was heard, not too far from where they were standing. Casting a swift glance over his shoulder, Hux saw a Resistance soldier being thrown several feet into the air, only to meet the ground with the sickening noise of flesh and bone crushing on the cobblestones. He fought to swallow down another burst of savage laughter, born from the overwhelming rush of adrenaline the moment he had realised he wasn't the intended target.

All around him, panic was starting to set in. The officers and mechanics who had stayed by during the confrontation were now running for their lives, alternating between please to be spared and calls for help. To Hux, it was little more than background noise. Though a part of him knew back-up would come soon and in a matter of minutes he would find himself surrounded by Resistance soldiers armed to the teeth, he couldn't bring himself to care. What would have been the fruitless effort of a doomed man before, now almost felt like a winnable struggle. He had never let himself be intimidated by unfavourable odds.

Ignoring the stinging pain he had come to associate with his limp, Hux closed in. His free hand took hold of Ben's shirt, used it to pull him in so that he could rest his forehead against his. And for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, everything felt right. Ben let him. Not only that, he leaned into the touch with a deep sigh that resembled way too much a sound of relief, as Hux's unarmed hand left the fabric and wrapped around the back of his neck to hold him close.

"Welcome back, Ren."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I gave two of the most terrible people in the Galaxy a happy-ish if open ending. What can I say? Thanks to everyone who read/commented/stuck around until the end. Phew, what a ride! Also, as pointed out by a friend of mine, "Deus In Absentia" is totally the soundtrack of this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the first half of a Latin saying meaning "in the absence of light". The second missing half may or may not be foreshadowing for the end of this fic.


End file.
